Misdirection
by UnderneathARainbowSky
Summary: After so many years of living with Jane's tendency for devious misdirection, It made my head spin with embarrassment that I hadn't anticipated this possibility sooner. A true con-artist relies not on magic to sell his tricks to his victims, but on misdirection, distraction and deception. And there it was, clear as day... misdirection. Season 6 speculation and inadvertent spoilers!


**Disclaimer: I don't own these characters/The Mentalist.**

**Enjoy! x**

It probably took me longer than it should have to realize what Jane was doing. Or what he _wasn't _doing, really.

After so many years of living with Jane's tendency for devious misdirection, It made my head spin with embarrassment that I hadn't anticipated this possibility sooner. I'd awoken suddenly one bright morning with a curious thought at the forefront of my mind. _A true con-artist relies not on magic to sell his tricks to his victims, but on misdirection, distraction and deception_. And there it was, clear as day; Misdirection.

Jane's list.

Mind churning, pulse racing, I pulled myself to sit in bed, pressing my spine firmly into the headboard and my skull against the wall behind it, closing my eyes, as if stabilizing my body might clear the tornado of suspicion brewing in my mind.

Why would Red John kill fellow suspects from Jane's list?Why would he want to help us narrow down the playing field, thus exposing himself (and ending the game) quicker?

Jane once told me that Red John was a consummate showman at heart. A con artist. Living for the deception and fear of others. Relishing in his permanent upper hand and slaying any who dare challenge it. The horrible pit of dread that replaced my stomach every time the serial killer was mentioned began to bubble-over furiously. The honey colored morning haze seeping through my slatted blinds told me that morning wasn't too far away to prevent my action. I leapt from under the covers and re-dressed my body, first pulling on underwear, followed by slacks and a shirt from my wardrobe. The detective in me couldn't fight the overwhelming urge to figure out the truth.

Red John's pride had him convinced that no one could be smarter than him. Even the Great Patrick Jane. And Jane had tried once before to appeal to this arrogant nature, he may have even succeeded had he been willing to provide my head on a platter.

Was there some wonderful possibility that Jane was doing so again?

Whilst gathering a coffee to go, my keys and my purse, the idea which had formed so spontaneously, was taking it's fully formed shape in my mind. I'd already seen the lengths which Jane had gone to to catch much less elusive killers, witnessed the intricate plays his beautifully complex brain was able to construct and initiate. It had always been usual for Jane to keep these to himself before now, why did I believe that just because I had explicitly requested we maintain some sort of mutual trust in our partnership things would ever change? No. Jane knew, just as I did, deep down, that if keeping this particular play from me, despite all of my requests for transparency between us, led us to Red John, I would forgive his underhanded ruse in a heart-beat.

Was Red John really still playing Patrick Jane after all this time, as everyone had assumed? Or maybe, perhaps hopefully, it was actually the other way around? Supposition took over; the list was faked by Jane and left to be found by Red John's mole in the CBI- his insistence that I tell no-one about it was all part of the show, designed to improve the scheme's legitimacy in the eyes of Red John. I had other ideas too- that Bertram and Stiles and Haffner and Smith and McAllister and Kirkland and Partridge might not be our enemies at all. Maybe they were on Jane's side too and maybe they were even trying to help?

Needing to test my idea, I wedged my slender feet into black patent boots, gave my appearance a cursory glance in the mirror, before slamming the door on my apartment.

I didn't know if Jane had expected me to figure this out before now. He would have predicted all of my other behaviors so accurately- being unable to keep the list a secret from the team, acting nervously around his seven fake suspects- surely he knew eventually that I would cotton on to the real scam?

The drive to Headquarters was uneventful, I strode purposefully past the security guys in the lobby, nodding politely to the couple of guys from the night staff I that I passed on my way up to 'Jane's' loft.

'Jane, open up!' I rapped twice. Hard. He pulled the door open and nodded me inside just as I was about to go for the third. His suit was crumpled, his hair mussed. No change there then. I looked him up and down disapprovingly, just long enough so he would catch the concern reflected in my eyes.

'Lisbon.' A sigh. 'To what do I owe this early-morning pleasure?' He stood squarely, shoulders pointing towards the Sacramento skyline.

Lisbon took two steps towards him, her raised foot hesitating with the third.

'Haffner came to see me in the hospital.'

I hadn't deliberately kept it from him, things had just gotten so hectic with the case and Bertram's little suspect party that I hadn't found the right moment to mention it. And, if I was being totally honest, I hadn't wanted to prove Jane right, to admit to him that, just as he expected, I hadn't been able to maintain a believable pretense when put under pressure by one of Jane's listed suspects. But now, Haffner's little visit to my beside provided the perfect opportunity to test Jane's reactions.

Jane turned his head, slightly, toward me.

'I'm afraid I might have acted suspiciously, Jane.' Guiltily, I glanced down to my feet and sucked in a sharp breath of air, all for good effect. 'And he said something that unnerved me, something I'm worried that may very well have been a thinly veiled threat.'

Jane's head turned again, this time to fully face me, one eyebrow raised as if to say '_go on..._'

I relayed the hospital scene, word for word and Jane listened closely, expression neutral.

'I told him that I didn't think Red John was that tough, that he'd barely laid a hand on me. How could I have been so stupid? Baiting Red John like that to one of your top suspects?' I sat myself into the nearest chair and cradled my head in my hands. 'I think i put myself in even more danger, Jane and, God, I am scared.'

Emotions flickered in his eyes and if I'd had Jane's skills, I may have been able to identify which ones.

His mouth was set in a thin line as he crossed the room to rest his hands on my shoulders. A possessive gesture, if ever I saw one. I could only hope he didn't feel my torso shiver under his touch.

'Trust me, Lisbon,' His voice was low and rough and emphatic, 'You are safe now.'

_Trust me, Lisbon. _

I met his steady gaze with questioning eyes. He replied to my unspoken curiosity with an almost imperceptible nod. And in that moment I was sure: Jane was working something big, something huge, something beyond me, beyond us. Silently, he withdrew his touch and I arose from my seat, gently sliding the loft door closed behind me. I'd gotten my answer, and for now, I was satisfied.

Whatever it was the Jane was planning, whatever guise his apocalyptic climax was taking, (I genuinely believed there was little point in my speculation- how would I ever be able to suppose on the nature of the greatest con that the Boy Wonder Patrick Jane had ever played?)

I knew one thing for certain- he was trying his hardest to keep me as safe as I could be in this position. I was pretty sure Jane would have my welfare very near, if not at the top, of his priority list when laying the intricate groundwork for his ploys. He asked me once If I trusted him. I guess now was my chance to prove I did. My only hope was that Jane had listened to me once or twice over the years, or I was in for, at the best, an unsurmountable summit of paperwork- but at the worst? I shuddered to think.

Peaking at my watch, I exhaled a calming breath. The clock was ticking, and I had a feeling Red John's time was almost up. I vowed in that moment to stick beside Jane until the end finally came, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he'd remember me, remember what he could be losing, when the choice to end Red John or to seek legal justice finally had to be made.

Later, as I poured my second coffee of the day, I watched Jane appear and saunter across the bullpen to sit on his couch. As he swung his legs around in one smooth motion to lie back across the faded leather, just for a second, our eyes met. Jane stopped, mid stretch, and shot a sly wink in my direction before settling himself back, eyes closed, to enjoy a post-breakfast nap. He knew he could trust me with our newest and not-so little secret.

_I trust you too, Jane_.


End file.
